He’ll be fine, she told herself over and over as her tires hummed against the frozen pavement and her headlights cast twin beams into the darkness. And yet, despite all of her encouragement to herself, she wondered if that were really true. Who had tried to kill him? she asked herself again. And, more chillingly, was the assassin planning to try again?
&
nbsp; “I can’t believe you deputized my son!” Pescoli was livid as she stood over Cort Brewster’s desk, hands planted on its smooth edge, her gaze pinning the tall man to his chair. His office, just down the hall from Grayson’s, was slightly smaller and filled with bookcases that were stuffed with books on law enforcement, business, psychology, accounting, and a Bible. Between the volumes were pictures of Brewster and his family, the stepping stone blond girls at various ages, his diplomas and awards, even a few trophies used as bookends. One wall was covered with a map of the county, and the other, high above his desk and opposite the door, boasted a small, high window, above a credenza littered with more family photos.
His desk was neat, a picture of his wife front and center.
Pescoli got it: Brewster was a family man and proud of it.
“Hey, hold on. He wanted to volunteer and I agreed. He’s not a deputy, you and I both know that, but his title or duties are beside the point. He wants to work here and I said yes. You know, Pescoli, I’d think you’d want to thank me,” he said when she’d finished lambasting him. “That kid of yours has been searching for something to make of himself for a long time, and now he’s shown some interest in law enforcement and you’re ticked off.”
“You bet I am!”
“For the love of God, Pescoli, what’s with you? Quit enabling him and let him be his own man.”
“It’s not for you to say!” Pescoli sputtered.
“He’s twenty years old and you keep trying to run his life.”
“ ‘That kid’ you mentioned is still trying to find himself,” Pescoli declared, fighting back the urge to rant and rave. “And he has some whacked-out notion that he wants to follow in his father’s footsteps.”
“Or his mother’s.”
“What if your daughter came to me and wanted to be deputized?” she threw back at him. “How would you feel about that?”
Brewster rose from his chair and his face turned red. “Leave Heidi or any of my kids out of this. You’re deflecting, Pescoli. It’s your boy and he came to me. I didn’t go looking for him. He wants to do his part, and I said, ‘okay.’ Actually, more like ‘Hallelujah. Finally.’ ”
“As if you care.”
“Let him grow a pair.”
“I can’t believe this. And why would you want to help him anyway? You’ve always been on his case, letting me know what a loser he is. No. Uh-uh. This makes no sense.”
“I’ve never said he was a loser.”
“Oh, yeah, I think so. Or at the very least implied it.”
“I just think that you haven’t let him be the man he could be. It’s not him I have a problem with. It’s really you.”
“Then don’t take it out on my kid!”
“I’m not. I’m helping him, and if you weren’t so damned bullheaded, Pescoli, you’d see it.”
“Not that it’s any of your business.”
“It is when he’s dating my daughter and when he comes into my office and wants to help.” Brewster’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and he looked about to explode with that same hatred that always seemed to appear whenever they were talking about their kids. Then, as if he suddenly realized where they were and how out of hand the conversation had become, he looked away to gather himself. After letting out a long breath, he was calmer again. “We’re getting off course here. Let’s take you and me and our kids out of this equation.”
“We’re talking about my son.”
“Yes, but hear me out,” Brewster said, holding up a hand as if to physically stop her from spouting any further arguments. “We’re not talking about an exclusive club here. Jeremy’s not the only person who was deputized yesterday, or at least asked to help out. Informally, we ‘deputized’ half a dozen citizens. If you’ve forgotten, not only are we looking for someone who tried to kill the sheriff, but we’re short-handed on top of that since Van Droz is still on a leave of absence. Who knows if she’ll return?”
Though she wanted to, Pescoli couldn’t argue that point. Trilby Van Droz was one of the best cops on the force, and she’d threatened to quit after her last near-death experience. Grayson had refused her resignation, talking Van Droz into taking some time over the holidays to rethink her position and consider her options.
Brewster continued, “We’re down two officers, counting the sheriff, and a few others are on vacation. It’s the end of the year, and there are people on holiday leave, not to mention that with the bad weather and uptick in domestic issues that always occur this time of year, we’re stretched thin. Real thin. I figured we’ll deputize a few who asked to be, and even though they’re not on the payroll or officially part of the staff, they can help. Your kid volunteered. You should be proud, instead of going off half-cocked. That’s your problem: never keeping a level head. You’re a rogue, Regan, and it doesn’t work for me. Just calm the hell down.”
Damn it all to hell, Brewster was right, on too many levels.
Sensing capitulation in her silence, he added, “As I said, you should thank me.”